


Shoveled Yourself A Grave

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Gender, M/M, Women's Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: His shirt is flung onto the bed, along with his trousers, something will fold them up neatly later. He's left standing in his boxers, and he bites his lip as he tugs them down, till he's standing there naked.Roman turns this way, and then that, admiring himself. He's thin, bony, all sharp angles and no soft.





	Shoveled Yourself A Grave

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahaha this is so self indulgent i want to punch myself in the face

The underwear shop is right at the back of the Hemlock mall, and nobody looks at it full on, only from the corner of their eyes. It's something seedy, and dirty, and dark, so nobody can look in. Roman slips inside, cash burning a hole in his pocket. He doesn't want this on his account.

He buys stockings, suspenders, something called a waspie that goes around his waist. He even buys a bra in the smallest size, that will cover his non existence tits. They're all black and lacy, and he drapes them over one arm as he searches for more.

By the end of the shopping trip, he feels thrilled and disgusted with himself at the same time. It's more than just a casual thing now as he throws crumpled up notes onto the cashiers desk. He wants to wear these things. These seductive, dangerous, things.

“Girlfriend?” The cashier asks, and it's a girl he knows from school, she's small and dark, a stud in her nose.

“Something like that.” He replies, and picks up a vibrator that's on offer. “Throw this in as well for her.”

“Sure Mr Godfrey.” The girl says, blushing, and Roman wants to slam his head against the wall.

On the car ride back home, the bag shoved underneath the passenger seat, he gets a nosebleed. He's been getting them a lot lately, from stress, or from something else he doesn't want to think about. He has to pull over to the side of the road, blood streaming down his face, and Roman tilts his head back, lets it run over his lips.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror, the way the blood stains his mouth crimson.

Like lipstick.

Fuck, he thinks, and fumbles for a tissue to wipe it all away. He can feel his cock stirring in his boxers, and he takes hold of his wrist, bites down hard, so everything is focussed on the pain and not the pleasure. When he pulls his mouth away, he's left pin pricks of teeth marks.

He starts the car again, angry.

Up in his room, with the door shut and the curtains closed. Roman's got the lights on though, and they're blinding, illuminating the room. He's set up the full length mirror against the wall, so he can see himself, all of himself.

He sheds his normal clothes quickly, throwing off his coat, and toeing out of his shoes. His shirt is flung onto the bed, along with his trousers, something will fold them up neatly later. He's left standing in his boxers, and he bites his lip as he tugs them down, till he's standing there naked.

Roman turns this way, and then that, admiring himself. He's thin, bony, all sharp angles and no soft.

He places his hands on his stomach, the way his long fingers look so spindly and corpse like. His entire body is a pale white, apart from the happy trail that runs from his belly button down to his cock. Idly, he imagines what Peter must look like, underneath all those terrible clothes, and the image his brain provides is so filthy that he turns away from the mirror, ashamed.

Roman tries to put the stockings on first, standing upright and almost falling over, and then realises he won't be able to get on the underwear over the top. He lays the stockings down neatly on the bed, and then slips on the lacy pair of panties. They're black, with white trim, and he feels different in them. They cover more of him than he expected, and the label says that they're in the short style.

Next is the waspie. It attaches around his waist, covering his belly button, and it has all these weird complicated clips that Roman struggles to do up. He's never had to put on a bra thing before, only had to take them off, and it's more difficult than he imagined.

Stockings next, and he sits down this time, which makes it much more easier. They slip on easily, coming all the way up to the top of his thigh, and the material is sheer and silky. He finds himself stroking the fabric, sliding his hands up and down his legs. It feels good.

The suspender belt attaches to the waspie thing, and then attaches to the stockings. When he looks up at the mirror, it's a shock to see himself, the way he's all tied up. It's attractive, and arousing, and Roman bites on his wrist again so he doesn't get hard, doesn't ruin the allusion.

The bra is tricky. It's not difficult to put on, it's incredibly easy to do so, it's more the fact that he's wearing it. A bra. It fits snugly over his chest, with lots of little straps that make it look like bondage gear, and he loves it, and he hates it all at once. When he looks in the mirror, standing just so, his head at an angle so he can't see his face, he looks good. Hot. Fuckable.

He's scared to look at his face. He doesn't want to match his head with the body, he wants to be faceless, unremarkable. Roman can't stop staring though, at his body, at what he looks like. A boy dressed as a girl.

There's a lipstick tube on the table. Roman stole it from his mother's bedroom, searching through her make up bag when she was downstairs. He wants to try make up, wants to smear things over his eyes, look like one of the women in the magazines. But at the same time, he's Roman Godfrey, male heir, male everything, and it's wrong.

So he sticks with just the lipstick. It's the same colour as his blood, and he has to press himself against the mirror so that he can see as close as possible, very slowly outlining his cupids bow with the tube. He does his top lip first, and then smacks his lips together, before lining the bottom. He's always had plump lips, but the lipstick makes them look erotic. Like he could go down on his knees and suck you off any moment.

Roman stands back from the mirror, and the sight of himself makes him blink. He looks like a girl, no, a woman. His legs are long, but toned, and the tights and suspenders automatically make him spread them apart, like he's waiting for something. His cock is pressing against the fabric of the knickers, and he finally gives in to himself, and places his hand there. The other hand snaked up to the bra, pinching his nipple through the fabric. It makes him gasp out, his red mouth falling open in pleasure.

He jerks himself off in front of the mirror, and he wishes he could pretend that he imagined a woman wearing these clothes, but he doesn't, he gets off over himself. Of his slim and supple body, of someone, _not Peter not Peter_ , stripping him, or perhaps just tugging down his underwear just enough to fit their cock inside of him. He'd have to grab hold of the mirror for support, he thinks, and maybe he'd have his nails painted so he could look at the bright red colour as someone fucked him from behind.

They'd come inside of him, he decides, as he increases the pace on his cock. He'd insist on it, he doesn't want them to ruin the underwear. But then maybe Roman would come in his panties, staining the front of them, and then everyone would know he was a whore, a slut, useless, nothing, _useless_ -

The bedroom door swings open, and Olivia stands there. She looks like medusa, hair flying out around her head, and Roman makes a little surprised noise, and turns away, as if she cannot see him if he cannot see her.

“Roman.” She says, and her voice is shaking with anger. “What the fuck?”

Roman doesn't reply. He can't even look down at himself.

“Get out of those clothes.” She hisses. “And we will talk.”

Her voice is dripping with poison, and he knows in that moment that she hates him, and he hates her, and she will never look at him the same again, her only son, her pathetic only son.

“Yes.” He says quietly, and the door is slammed shut.

Roman raises his wrist to his mouth again, and this time he breaks the skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment if u want to see roman in lipstick


End file.
